


feed my fascination (a way our skin likes silk)

by nokomisfics



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: F/F, Harry Potter AU, M/M, god this is the longest fic ive ever written on my own god bless, literal birth of my OCs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-08
Updated: 2015-10-08
Packaged: 2018-04-25 11:09:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 19,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4958200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nokomisfics/pseuds/nokomisfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Phil is a seventh-year Ravenclaw who accidentally starts fucking around with Dan Howell and doesn’t quite know how to stop.</p>
            </blockquote>





	feed my fascination (a way our skin likes silk)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [surfingpotato on tumblr](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=surfingpotato+on+tumblr).



> so this 20k monstrosity started out as a prompt fill for joel, who asked for slytherin!dan, ravenclaw!phil, magic and ro ma nce. i hope i delivered. this fic is to date the longest one i have ever written on my own. there were many days i was convinced i’d never get it done, but i did get it done, and it turned out to be nearly five times the length i’d originally planned for it. so that is awesome, and i am very very proud of myself for that. 
> 
> i want to thank my beta Emmy for being a darling and putting up with my sporadic writing, and of course gratitude to my artist Clover for the beautiful art. i appreciate it very much. some more acknowledgements to kate, who read the fic in its baby stages and has always cheered me on when i felt demotivated, and also to joel for the prompt and for helping out in his own unconventional ways. 
> 
> that is all! i’m very excited to hear what you think of this fic, so please drop me a message and let me know! 
> 
> x  
> nokomis
> 
> art  
> [playlist](https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLB6y0lGM_jug52nt1qnSCW6v3FxZ0oalB) (youtube)  
> [read it on tumblr](http://oopsiwritefanficdonttellmum.tumblr.com/post/130757984765/feed-my-fascination-a-way-our-skin-likes-silk)

Phil doesn’t mean to get involved with Dan Howell from Slytherin with the dark mark tattoo and loud, snobbish accent and grand entourage of fans but. Well. It happens.

It happens like a bad metaphor: gradually, and then all at once. One minute he’s just a Seventh Year worrying about his Potion grades and laughing at the Dark Lord rumours that still float around now and then, falling asleep in the library and kipping down to Hogsmeade with Amy for brief moments of respite, and then Dan Howell drops into his life and everything else just sort of falls out.

He begins sneaking around. (He’s  _forced_  into it, actually, by black eyes that twinkle with mirth and a low, persistent, merciless voice.) He begins lying - first to Amy, then to PJ when he asks him if he’s ever snogged a boy, and then to himself in front of the mirror in the boys’ Ravenclaw dorm: “It’s just a hook-up. It’s just a hook-up. It’s just a hook-up.”

Dan Howell is a fifth-year troublemaker who would’ve been in everyone’s bad books if it weren’t for his relentless charm. He roams with the Year Sevens and acts like one, too, speaking in the commanding sort of tone that would make anyone else sound like a twat but fits his attitudious persona perfectly. Phil’s been careful to stay away from the boy ever since he got sorted into Slytherin as a wee first year, but. See how that turned out.

(Now he’s just trying to not get killed for fucking around with the school’s fifteen-year-old tyrant. If he passes his NEWTs, that would be nice, too.)

There are all sorts of rumours about Dan. They say he’s dabbled in dark magic before, and the tattoo on his arm isn’t  _just_  a tattoo. Some say he got the scar above his eyebrow from trying to reopen the Chamber of Secrets and nearly succeeding, while others argue he obtained it while attempting to brew the Drink of Despair in his first year.There’s an on-going tale that he’s sleeping through every pair of knickers in Hogwarts, and that he keeps a King Cobra as a pet.

Phil figures it should mean something that he can’t confirm nor deny any of that. But he’s too busy being dick-deep in Dan Howell and trying his level best not to get caught.

+

“Are you dazed?” asks Amy from across the library table, glasses perched at the edge of her nose as she regards him sternly. “Because now’s not the right time for a nap, you’ve really got a lot to do and you’ve just gotten here.”

Amy Stroup is smart. If she were to sit for the NEWTs right now (the academic year has only just begun) she’d most definitely beat every other seventh year out of the water. The  _Beauxbatons_  girls are terrified of her. But regardless of all of that, she wouldn’t know Phil’s post-coital expression if it was staring her in the face.

Which, as of this moment, it is.

Phil would laugh, but he’s scared his voice might still be hoarse. Instead, he buries his face in the nearest textbook -  _Magical Drafts and Potions_  by Arsenius Jigger - and lets Amy talk over him.

“Honestly,” she says in that clear-cut tone she uses for her rants. Phil braces himself. “The twelve inches on Abyssinian Shrivelfigs that Madam Hessa asked from us is far too little. I wrote  _fifteen_  inches and then had to reel myself in. Sometimes I worry for the future of Herbology, especially since Professor Longbottom left.”

Phil nods earnestly and tries to catch his breath. When is that Herbology essay due, anyway? Probably after the Christmas hols. Amy should have just accepted that offer she got from the Ministry when they were in their sixth year - she’d have saved Phil the anxiety of being friends with the maddest witch in the school.

“Would you like my extra three inches?” Amy asks, raising her eyes to look at Phil again. Her eyebrows pop up comically. “You’re red. Why are you red? Are you coming down with something?”

Phil shakes his head and opens his mouth, forgetting for a moment that said mouth had been around a particular someone’s voluminous cock not too long ago. “I’m fine,” he goes to say, but it comes out as a croak.

“You’re not!” exclaims Amy. She snaps her book shut and leans forward, pushing the parchments and quills on the table out of the way to feel Phil’s forehead.

“I’m fine,” Phil insists again, trying very hard not to laugh. Amy would feel insulted. He grabs his water bottle and chugs down nearly half of it, and then clears his throat before he speaks again. “See? Just a bit of phlegm. Calm down.”

Amy frowns at him but settles back in her seat. “If you say so,” she says dubiously.

Phil just looks sheepish and ducks down to fetch a roll of parchment from his satchel on the floor.

“So, did you hear about Dan Howell?”

Phil raises his head so abruptly he bangs it against the bottom of the library table. He pushes his chair back, head ringing and throbbing in pain, and fetches the roll of parchment quickly. When he resurfaces, Amy’s looking at him like she’s reconsidering his physical health. Or, for that fact, his mental one.

“Are you  _sure_  you’re fine?”

“What about Dan Howell?” he asks quickly, struggling to keep a straight face.

“Right,” says Amy slowly. “Well, he’s been smuggling silly weed into Hogwarts. Apparently.”

Phil raises his eyebrows. “And where’d you hear that?”

“Elizabeth Farthing was talking loudly about it just now over dinner,” she answers stuffily. “Which, by the way, you missed.”

“I know,” mumbles Phil. As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. He’ll have to have a word with Dan Howell about their sneaking around schedule. Today it was dinner, yesterday it had been breakfast, and last week there was a day when he’d had to skip all three meals. (Shoutout to the kitchen elves who helped him get through that one.) “Tell me again why you’ve chummed up with Elizabeth Farthing?”

“She is  _nice_ ,” says Amy, looking sufficiently appalled that Phil would dare suggest otherwise.

“I’m sure,” Phil says patiently. “But what she says isn’t entirely  _reliable_ , is it?” Elizabeth Farthing was the one who restarted the Dark Lord rumours, and the one about Headmistress McGonagall shacking it up with the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, Ginny Weasley.

“It’s reliable this time, because Elizabeth actually  _saw_  Dan Howell distributing silly weed to the sixth years. In small red packets.” Amy looks so triumphant Phil’s scared he might laugh again.

He shrugs and chooses not to comment on it. Amy’s compulsion to know it all includes the gossip mill as well, and when Phil’s not around (because he’s too busy getting a mouthful of Dan Howell, mostly) she’s with Elizabeth Farthing catching up on the happenings at Hogwarts. It’s a bit of a gamble being around Amy, really, because you never know if she’s about to reprimand you for not writing your seven inches on the perks and downfalls of using  _Crinus Moto_  for Transfiguration, or tell you excitedly about how Jesse James from Gryffindor may or may not have had  _both_  Martin twins in his bed last night.

When Madam Pince the librarian shuts the lights in the library off pointedly, they pack up their things and walk sleepily in the general direction of Ravenclaw Tower. Amy’s so tired she remains quiet, which is a first. They’re two hallways away from their common room when there are loud voices, and Dan Howell marches into the opposite end of the corridor.

Of  _course_  he does.

Amy lifts her head to glare at him, but with her unfocused eyes she just looks ruffled and cute. Howell’s followed closely by Nicholas Prime and Gregory Stewart, both seventh-year Slytherins still dressed in their emerald green school robes. Howell’s in skinny jeans and a white jumper, and he looks rather delectable.

Phil tries not to stare as they cross paths, but Howell openly smirks at him and then at Amy, looking for all the world like he owns the floor he’s walking on. When Phil and Amy turn the corner, Amy lets out a breath like she’s been personally offended by Howell.

Beside her, Phil tries not to think about how he knows exactly what Dan looks like just after he’s come.

+

It had started just a week after Phil had come back to Hogwarts as a seventh year. Dan Howell had seemed cheekier than usual, flirting loudly and openly with anyone who could walk and blush prettily and flirt back. When he’d first smacked Phil’s arse in the hallway, the boy had panicked and brushed it off as an unfortunate misunderstanding. Howell had probably mistaken him for one of the other Year Sevens he was rumoured for regularly hooking up with.

But he kept at it, and after the fifteenth ‘accidental’ groping, Phil could hardly explain it away anymore. Then one night he’d been walking back from the library alone, nearly asleep on his legs, and Dan had appeared out of nowhere, dragged him into a dark corner and snogged him thoroughly. Phil had been taken aback but not exactly averse to being snogged by the boy, especially since he was warm and soft and a bloody good kisser.

After, Dan had pulled away and explained in a hot whisper that Phil wasn’t to tell anybody, and then he’d turned on his heel and left.

The next time, they met in an empty classroom and Dan had gotten onto his knees and sucked him off. And it just kept happening from there.

+

“Did you even sleep last night?” Phil asks Amy when he meets her for breakfast in the Great Hall, a week after the birth of the silly weed rumour.

Amy stares through him unblinkingly. “I fell asleep at four,” she says, sounding disappointed with her body for being normal and craving rest.

“Nice,” says Phil appreciatively because Amy’s pulled all-nighters before, and those were a nightmare for everyone involved. He helps himself to all of the chicken and ham sandwiches from the plate before him, watching in bemusement as the platter refills itself. Then, impulsively and out of the corner of his eye, he glances at the Slytherin table.

Howell’s sitting there, looking very fresh and very kissable.

“What do you have first today?” he asks Amy loudly, trying to distract himself from thinking too much about a particular Slytherin boy.

“Divination,” Amy answers automatically. She’s still staring into space and looking very, very pale.

Phil hands her a sandwich helpfully, but Amy just stares down at the little triangle in his hand and then back up at his face. Rolling his eyes, Phil downs the sandwich himself and wonders where Elizabeth Farthing is at.

Across the hall, Howell twists in his seat to rake his eyes down the Ravenclaw table. Catching Phil’s eyes, he grins sinfully and bites at a sausage. Beside him, Nicholas Prime leans into his ear and whispers something, and Phil watches Dan break into mirthful laughter.

“Why are you staring at the Slytherins?” Amy asks, jerking him out of whatever spell Dan’s just cast on him. (Well, metaphorically speaking. Dan hasn’t ever jinxed him, but he thinks smugly that he’d really like to see the boy try. He hasn’t topped Defence Against the Dark Arts every single year so far for nothing.)

Phil makes to reply but right then, Elizabeth Farthing bounces into the seat beside Amy and looks upon them with bright eyes. “Morning Lester, hi Stroup!” she says in the sort of voice that’s always excited, and Phil may be imagining it, but her eyes and voice soften as she glances at Amy, who still looks like an Inferi. “Rough night? Have you slept? Eat something, Amy,  _God_.”

At Elizabeth Farthing’s insistence (and Phil’s amusement because, honestly, he didn’t see this coming) Amy gets some colour back in her cheeks, and by the time the three of them leave the Great Hall to head towards the North Tower, Amy and Elizabeth have got their heads bent together and are in deep, engaging conversation. Phil’s standing a bit farther from them, wondering exactly when did he get replaced by Elizabeth  _Farthing_  and how he hadn’t noticed until right now.

He doesn’t waste too much time pondering over that, though, courtesy of a hand wrapping around his waist and pulling him against the nearest wall.

“What -”  he makes to say, but then Dan Howell flings an invisibility cloak over them and leans up to press his lips into his neck.

“Don’t say a thing,” he whispers.

“Right.” Phil nods. When he looks down at the boy he needs to breathe in sharply, because Dan’s pupils are blown wide and he looks very hot and delicately bothered, which is very like him. “There are people around us,” he points out weakly.

Predictably, Dan just smirks wider. “Excellent. Take your robe off.”

“What?”

Dan raises an eyebrow as if to say,  _do you really want to make me repeat myself?_

“Won’t it be a bit…” Phil trails off, looking about him helplessly.

“I’ll hold the cloak up, it’s big enough to cover us both,” Dan says impatiently. He prods at his chest. “Take your robe off. Come on, I want to touch you.”

“Right. Shit, okay.” Phil fumbles around for a bit, and then reaches down to grab the hem of his royal blue robes and pulls it over his head. He’s wearing a dull grey t-shirt underneath, and it rides up his stomach as the robes come off. Before he can push it down, however, Dan’s palm is there lying flat against his cold skin.

Phil is suddenly hot all over.

“Hold the cloak up,” says Dan. He looks at his tented jeans pointedly and Phil has to refrain from swearing again. He takes the invisibility cloak from Dan and holds it around them, hoping against hopes that it’s a new one and not a faulty, vintage one. Those have a nasty habit of wearing out at the most inappropriate moments. And now’s an inappropriate moment if there ever was one.

The moment Dan’s other hand is free of the cloak, he’s making quick work of Phil’s jeans and and pushes them down his thighs hurriedly. When Dan palms his erection, he looks up at Phil’s face and grins maliciously at his dazed, wanton expression. “You really want this, eh?” he teases, pressing his palm down again. Phil’s breath hitches in his throat. “God, look at you,” says Dan reverently, and actually leans back to revel in the sight.

“Dan,” Phil gasps out, pushing his hips up. “You need to - please - I’ll be late for class.”

“Class?” Dan snickers into his neck, his lips warm and inviting, and -  _why_  hasn’t Phil snogged him yet? “Skip class,” continues Dan. Phil is so far gone with lust at this point that he’s scared he just might agree. He cants his hips upwards again and, thankfully, Dan takes the hint. He slips a palm under his pants and tugs at the coarse hair there, before pulling out his erection and giving it one long, firm stroke.

The sound Phil makes is probably inhuman.

“Shit,” Dan laughs, and produces his wand out of nowhere to cast a  _Muffliato_  over them. “Shut up,” he admonishes, but there’s something like fondness in his voice. When he returns his hand to Phil’s cock and strokes it once more, Phil lets his eyes flutter shut. He breathes hard out of his nose and tells himself it would be inherently  _not cool_  to buck into Dan’s touch.  _Again_.

Dan’s fingers are warm and clever. They dip underneath to tickle his balls lightly before returning their attention to his cock and stroking repeatedly, languidly, dominantly. Then Dan lifts up his palm to lick at it, and Phil’s knees wobble so weakly he’s scared he might drop the cloak and expose them. The hallway is deserted by now (he is most  _definitely_  late for class, which is fine really, why did he ever think it wasn’t?) but that’s besides the point. There’s something thrilling about being pushed into a corner and hidden under an invisibility cloak, having Dan Howell the fifth-year tyrant Slytherin get him off so earnestly.

With the lubrication provided by spit and pre-come, Dan runs his palm up and down Phil’s cock faster, his pace increasing as his breath becomes thicker, heavier, and Phil relishes how Dan’s getting off on getting Phil off. And then Phil comes, loud and long, and there are really no more thoughts in his head except  _Dan, Dan, Dan_.

As he rests his head against the cold brick wall and struggles to catch his breath, Dan tucks him back into his pants and pulls up his trousers, buttoning them up. He’s even cast a cleaning spell so that Phil doesn’t feel all too sticky, bless him. Phil’s scared Dan might pull on his robes for him too, so he picks them up and pulls them on himself, and then Dan steps back and takes the cloak away with him.

“What about you?” asks Phil, still slightly out of breath. But Dan just smirks at him as if to say  _I’m fine_ , and Phil wonders briefly if he’s got other Year Sevens in other hallways who’d willingly get him off. Phil would like to get him off, he thinks stubbornly, but doesn’t say it out loud.

Then Dan reaches up to peck him lightly on his lips, stuffs the cloak into his satchel and moves away. “See you,” he says cheekily, and when he grins there’s a dimple in cheek that Phil has never noticed before. Then he’s walking away, and Phil runs his hands through his hair.

Shit. He’s  _really_  late for class now.

+

Phil’s looking for Amy, but she’s nowhere to be seen. They’d agreed to meet up on the grounds behind the Quidditch pitch because it’s a clear, sunny day and it’d be a pity to spend it studying indoors. Naturally, the only other option was studying  _outdoors_. And now Phil’s out for the first time in very, very long, but he can’t find Amy Stroup any bloody where.

Jolly good, honestly. He wouldn’t mind having a lie-out in the sun. He marches down, books and all, to the nearest tree - it’s an adequately-sized mustard tree that has huge branches spanning out for a bit, so he can sleep under it without getting shone on by the sun. And he does just that, resting his head on his satchel and shutting his eyes under the shade. There are a bunch of sixth years on the Quidditch pitch having an impromptu inter-hours match, and Phil falls asleep to the sound of Slytherins booing the Gryffindors and the Hufflepuffs cheering for each team in turn.

When he jerks awake, it’s dark and he’s horribly disoriented. Phil sits up and shivers, running his hands down his arms and picking up his satchel. He gets to his feet and looks around. The grounds are deserted and the lights in the Great Hall are bright. It’s dinner time, then. He remembers again that he was supposed to study with Amy who ditched him without reason, and starts back to the castle so that he can have it out with her and grab some guinness stew while he’s at it.  

He’s just crossed the Quidditch pitch when he hears raised voices and stops walking. There’s nobody about that his eyes can pick up at first glance, but then again his eyes are still adjusting to the dark. He tilts his head and tries to listen.

“You fucking  _know_  what I want,” says a low, threatening voice. There’s the sound of someone being shoved against something, a soft thump and a muffled ow. “Don’t you dare play dumb, Howell. We don’t have time for your games.”

Phil’s blood runs cold. He looks around himself again, drawing out his wand impulsively. Every nerve in his body is telling him to bail, because if there’s one thing about Dan Howell he knows for sure, it’s that the boy can take care of himself. But Phil has never been good at listening to the nerves in his body, who are usually very smart.

“Tell us where you’ve kept it,” says the same voice. This time Phil has the presence of mind to attempt to guess where it’s coming from, and looks wildly to his right. There’s a large oak tree there, and its trunk is definitely wide enough to hide people behind it. Recklessly, he creeps towards it.

“I’m not sayin’ anything,” comes Dan’s voice, and he sounds so worn out that Phil’s heart thumps in his chest. All the disorientation in his system is gone.  _Don’t be a twat_ , he thinks helplessly.  _Give them what they want. Don’t get yourself killed. God, Dan._

There’s another thump, and a louder  _ow_. Then - and Phil saw it coming, he supposes - a muttered spell that even sounds like a curse. And a very, very high-pitched yell that carries on for a few seconds and turns Phil’s blood even colder. Consolation comes in the knowledge that the voice is far too high and unreserved to belong to Dan.

There are footsteps. Acting on impulse and a very bad case of nerves, Phil taps his wand on himself and mutters the incantation for a disillusionment charm. It feels like a bucket of ice cubes have been emptied down his spine, and when he looks at his arm again he can’t see it.

Just in time, as well, because right that moment Dan Howell strides out from behind the huge oak tree and walks past Phil. He’s wearing a black jumper over black jeans and a dark, troubled expression on his face. Phil briefly considers taking a peek behind the oak tree, just to check nobody’s been killed, but then quite without his permission his legs begin hobbling behind Dan and. Well then. Priorities, he supposes.

He follows Dan stealthily into the castle, where instead of turning into the Great Hall where the rest of the students and teachers are, Dan turns left and starts down the hallway most Slytherins use to get to their common room.

Mindlessly, recklessly, Phil follows him. After a long, quiet moment of walking, he taps his wand against himself and lifts the disillusionment charm, and then calls out loudly, “Dan!”

The boy stumbles, turns around and glares. “What do you want?”

Dan seems to realise then that it’s just Phil, and his expression softens into something scornful but slightly pleased. He scratches at the back of his head, then says, “You okay?”

“Yes.” Dan stops walking so that Phil can catch up with him, which is just a little bit nice and very unlike him. Upon closer inspection, there’s mud on his jeans and something dirty in his hair that Phil hopes dearly isn’t blood. “Why?”

“No reason,” lies Phil. “You look a bit shaken up, is all.” What he’s more disconcerted by is how they’re standing in the hallway and chatting like they’re mates. He thinks he should drop to his knees and pull down Dan’s zipper for this to feel a bit more normal, and then shakes the thought away from his head. There’s no reason he and Dan shouldn’t have proper conversations when they aren’t getting each other off; they manage well enough when they  _are_.

“What’s wrong?” asks Dan, his tone dipping into his usual teasing banter. “Think I’m not up for fucking you tonight, Lester?”

Dan’s used his last name before, but it stings nevertheless. “No,” he answers coldly. “Just checking. Because you looked weird, and all.”

“Didn’t think I looked weird this morning when I went down on you, eh?” Dan follows it up with a crude laugh, but the light behind his eyes - the one that usually helps to remind Phil that Dan’s just a fifth year messing about - is gone. And Dan looks different; dulled, tired. On edge.

“Well.” Phil steps back and averts his eyes. “I’ll leave you to it, then.”

“That’s right, Phil. Run along and have some dinner now,” says Dan teasingly. He sounds like his usual self, but Phil doesn’t miss how Dan’s voice cracks at the last word. The boy is certainly not fine - he looks more strung out than Phil’s ever seen any other fifteen-year-old be - but he knows nothing about Dan Howell besides the things he likes Phil do with his tongue. There’s nothing he can do to help here.

“Right,” Phil says, his voice hollow.

Dan looks up at him pensively, his teeth digging into his bottom lip, and for one innane moment Phil’s sure he’s about to pull him in for a snog. Then Dan walks off, and Phil wonders why it’s always Dan walking off and never him.

What a twat.

+

The next day at breakfast, Amy has to ask Phil why he’s staring at the Slytherins again. But the difference is that this time he’s got a proper reason; Elizabeth interrupts him before he can explain himself, however, and he tries not to groan in frustration.

“Weasley’s rescheduled the mock practicals,” she’s saying importantly, mostly into Amy’s ear but loud enough so Phil - who’s sitting across the table behind a mountain of pudding - can hear her too. “They’re going to be  _tomorrow_ , but she hasn’t told us yet. I don’t think she will, either.”

Amy looks flushed. Phil isn’t sure if it’s because she thinks she isn’t prepared for their Defence Against the Dark Arts mock practicals (which is a lie, she totally is) or because Elizabeth is leaning in so close her lips are tickling the edge of her ear. Either way, it’s endearing. And slightly disgusting. “How’d you find out, then?” Amy asks, blinking her blush back bravely.

Elizabeth perks up like she’s glad Amy asked. “I overheard Tom Antonio telling Sarah Donowitz in the corridor outside the girl’s toilet - on the third floor? - and apparently Louis - weird Louis with the hair - you know - he was in Weasley’s office for detention and he  _saw_  - “

“Where’s Dan Howell?” Phil bursts in.  _No_ , his brain thinks crossly.  _Don’t say that._  But it’s too late.

Elizabeth looks at him with a little smirk on her lips. Phil’s acutely aware that if anyone were to find out about how Dan and he fraternize regularly, it would be Elizabeth Farthing. “Why?” she drawls now. Amy turns to look at him curiously, scooting just a little away from Elizabeth.

“No reason.” Phil forces himself to shrug, aiming for casual but probably achieving terrified and slightly concerned. “He’s just not there at the Slytherin table and - oh look, the mail’s arrived.”

 _Nice segue_ , Phil berates himself. Elizabeth keeps her eyes on him. She doesn’t even blink when a huge grey barn owl swoops down and drops today’s edition of the Daily Prophet into her mug of oats. “He might be caught up somewhere else,” she says in the sort of tone that suggests she isn’t being completely honest. It’s rather fitting for Elizabeth, because she knows all sorts of things, each of them in great detail. The owl begins to hoot at her. “Why so concerned, Phil?”

“No reason,” says Phil, his throat dry. The owl pecks at Elizabeth’s hand, and Amy frowns at it.

“Or,” continues Elizabeth, unfazed. “He might have got into a tussle sometime late last night, after hours, regarding issues unknown with people unidentified. Might be in the infirmary right now. Probably bruised, possibly dead.” The owl hoots louder, and Elizabeth watches in amusement as Amy retrieves a knut from the pocket of her robes and drops it into the pouch tied to the creature’s spindly leg. It takes off, hooting one last time.

Phil’s stomach swoops.

“Enough about Howell,” interrupts Amy impatiently. “Let’s talk about the mock practicals. What do you think Professor Weasley might make us do?”

“Well, there  _were_  rumours about boggarts, although  _I_  think…”

Phil tunes out. Against his better judgement - because Elizabeth’s looking at him out the corner of her eye, of course she is - he twists in his seat to look at the Slytherin table again. Nicholas Prince is there, laughing boisterously and looking about him with an air of smugness. Gregory Stewart sitting next to him seems to be performing some sort of complicated jinx on a banana. Nobody looks too bothered that Dan’s not with them, and that shouldn’t worry Phil as much as it does.

“I think I’ve left my Potions books in the dorms,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet. Elizabeth gives him a very fleeting but thorough glance - how does she  _do_  that? - while Amy barely registers his words. He still doesn’t know why she ditched their study date yesterday, but, yes. More pressing matters at hand and all.

He leaves his books in the Great Hall and rushes out. His heart is sort of thumping loudly in his chest, and for a long moment he can’t really remember in which direction the hospital wing is. His legs do, though, so he just lets them carry him up a flight of stairs that move just in time to deposit him into a long, bright corridor. He sees at the end of it the double doors of the infirmary and definitely does not sigh in relief. He shouldn’t even be here. Howell is probably surrounded by half of Slytherin and flooded in sympathy bouquets charmed to hum piano music at him when he’s feeling gloomy. That’s just the sort of thing his fans would do for him.

But knowing that doesn’t stop him from striding down the corridor and approaching the infirmary, and Phil has never claimed to be the cleverest person.

When he peeks into the large, white room and sees all of the beds empty, he’s hit with a wave of embarrassment so strong he actually has to stumble backwards.

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” hums Madam Pomfrey, bustling into view and looking him up and down with concern.

“Nothing,” he stutters out, already retreating quickly. “I was just here for - oh, never mind, sorry!”

Madam Pomfrey frowns at him. “There’s no one in here for you to visit, love. Unless you’re here for Howell. Are you here for Howell? Got a letter from his mum you’d like to pass on or something?”

Phil stops attempting to escape back down the corridor. “Dan’s here?” he asks. 

“Yes, I did in fact say so.” She’s looking at him weirdly now. “Not here to play a prank on him, are you? Poor boy’s got enough to deal with as is.”

“What happened to him?” asks Phil before he can stop himself. “I’m not here to play a prank,” he adds quickly. “Promise. We’re friends. Well, sort of.”

Madam Pomfrey considers him for a long minute, and Phil tries not to squirm under her gaze. She’s probably wondering why a studious year seven would ever be here for Dan Howell. If she knew Dan properly she wouldn’t bother, because the only people Dan goes around with  _are_  year sevens. So much so that the boy’s probably forgotten what year he’s actually in.  _That’s how he must have gotten into trouble in the first place_ , thinks Phil with irritation and just a dash of protectiveness.

“Come on then,” she says eventually, waving him in. “See for yourself. He’s over there behind the curtains. Don’t draw them, he won’t appreciate a bit of sun in his present state. And if he’s asleep you’ll leave him be. Understood?”

Phil nods earnestly under her stern eyes. Then she bustles off the the nurse’s room at the side and Phil approaches the curtains, thinking for the umpteenth time that this is a very, very bad idea.

Behind the curtains, Dan’s lying in a bed similar to the other ones in the infirmary, looking very pale and very small. His eyes are, to Phil’s surprise, very open and very staring at him.

“Hi,” says Phil. Dan just stares at him very hard. After a moment of staring back (because Phil isn’t  _stupid_  and knows when to fight fire with fire), he sinks into the chair beside Dan’s bed and looks at him again. “What’d you do?” he asks after a bit.

“What did  _I_  do?” begins Dan, sounding rather appalled. He doesn’t really pull off the emotion, however, because his voice is thinner and weaker than Phil’s ever heard it.

Phil winces. “Yeah,” he says. The only part of Dan that he can see is his face, because a thick dark blue duvet has been pulled over his body and tucked under his chin. “And when did this even happen? I only talked to you last night.”

Dan clears his throat and looks straight up at the ceiling. “After we talked, actually,” he answers stiffly. “Right before I entered the dungeons.”

“Right.” Phil nods. Pauses. “And who did this?”

Dan laughs bitterly. “What is this, the Spanish inquisition? Somebody did it. It doesn’t matter.”

“Well, fine,” Phil says. He means for it to come off as snappish but it just makes him sound a little bit sad. Wonderful. “ _What_  did they do, then?”

Dan moves his eyes back to Phil, and there’s something resentful in them, like he can’t believe Phil’s here. Phil can’t believe he’s here too. He’s never felt less out of place in his entire life, and seeing how he’s been spending an alarmingly increasing amount of time around Elizabeth Farthing, that’s saying a lot.

“Impartial paralysing curse,” mutters Dan. “Can’t feel either of my hands or my right leg.”

Phil doesn’t gasp, but it’s a struggle. “Wow,” he says, frowning. “What’s that, dark magic?”

“No shit,” Dan spits out, but it lacks venom. Sounds more like an instinctive response, if anything.

Phil just raises his eyebrows at him.

“Pomfrey thinks so,” Dan adds quietly, looking pointedly away from Phil. “Mostly because she’s never seen anything like this before. She just gave me a bunch of potions and said our best bet is to wait it out. What are you doing here?”

He says the last part in a cold voice. Phil pulls a face because,  _honestly_. He’s being  _kind_  here. “Saw you weren’t at breakfast, and Eliz - and there were rumours that apparently you got into a tussle or something. So. Um.”

“So you thought you’d come and kiss it all better?” sneers Dan.

“I came to check if you’re okay,” Phil says. He can hear how his voice has gone hard, but right now he doesn’t quite care. Feeling rather humiliated, he gets to his feet and looks down at his shoes. “But evidently you’re doing fine,” he adds, “So I’ll go now. Wish you a speedy recovery and all.”

“Thanks.” Dan nods once but the bitterness in his face is gone, and now he just looks tired and a little sad. Phil holds his gaze for a moment, and then steps out from the curtains and starts towards the door of the infirmary.

“Good job,” comes Madam Pomfrey’s voice. Phil looks up to see her standing at the far end of the hall looking well impressed. “That’s the most he’s said since he came in here,” she goes to add. “Didn’t even tell me who cursed him so I’d have something to report to Headmistress McGonagall. Although I can’t suppose he told you either, did he?”

Phil shakes his head, and she lets out a long-suffering sigh.

“Thought so.” She’s still got that impressed look on her face. Phil thinks about what she’s just said, about Dan not saying much since he’d been cursed until Phil came to visit him. “You best run along now,” says Madam Pomfrey, eyes becoming stern and reprimanding.

Phil doesn’t waste anytime leaving from there, and as he runs back to the now empty Great Hall to collect his books, his head is busy coming up with excuses he can use to visit Dan again tomorrow.

+

An excuse comes in the form of Professor Binns, who floats to him the next day after History of Magic with a pile of books Levitating behind him.

“Lester,” he says in that peculiarly squeaky voice of his, and if it weren’t for Amy motioning to something over his shoulder with her chin, he probably wouldn’t have heard him at all. As it is, Phil turns around and looks down at the small ghost-man and says, “Yeah?”

Binns motions for him to step closer with a thin pale hand, and as he (apprehensively) does so, he hears Amy and Elizabeth Farthing moving away behind him.  _Traitors_ , he thinks helplessly. To Binns he says, “Is something wrong, sir?”

“Rumour has it,” begins Binns, before exaggeratedly looking about them for stragglers who might be listening in. Obviously there are none, save for the few who had fallen asleep in their seats during the class and have yet to wake up. “Rumour has it,” says Binns again, “That you went to the infirmary to visit Howell yesterday.”

Something akin to a cold stone settles in the lower part of Phil’s abdomen. Madam Pomfrey’s integrity, he thinks severely, ought to be compared to that of Elizabeth Farthing’s. And whatever Wizardly Power is throwing people like them into his life could kindly stop now, please.

Out loud, Phil says, “Yes, sir?”

“So I took the liberty,” continues Binns, seemingly unaware of Phil’s sudden overpowering desire to off himself, “Of collecting all the work Howell’s missed over the two days - from all his professors, you see - “ He pauses to push his huge circular spectacles up his nose, and all of a sudden the enormous pile of books floating mid-air behind him makes perfect sense.

“I see,” says Phil, wishing that he didn’t.

“And I was wondering if you’d - well, I suppose I could ask no one else, really, we all seemed to agree - and a student of your profile - trustworthy, you see.” Binns seems a tad apprehensive, an impressive feat pulled off by a ghost, and Phil’s heart melts just a bit. Professor Binns, he tells himself, is just a small ghost-man who wants to fix Dan Howell’s grades. And Phil just has to let him.

“Of course,” he says, once again proving to everyone involved that he is still far from being the smartest wizard of his year.

Binns breaths a loud sigh of relief. Or, rather, he makes a loud  _whooshing_  sound akin to the sound a human might make when relieved - Phil still isn’t quite sure of the extents to which ghosts can breathe.

There are quite a few things he isn’t entirely sure about, really, and an increasing number of them have to do with a certain poor and sickly dark-haired boy lying partially paralysed in the infirmary.

+

Phil goes to see Howell again the next day right after breakfast. It’s a bright, sunny Saturday and most of the Ravenclaws have chosen to spend it outside or at Hogsmeade. And Phil would have joined them -  _gladly_  - if it wasn’t for a certain someone whose grades have all of a sudden become  _his sodding responsibility_.

“It’s you again,” says Howell, by way of greeting.

“Not by choice,” discloses Phil, falling into the chair beside Howell’s bed and taking the liberty of studying him. “Have you moved at all since I last saw you?”

Howell just glares at him, which he supposes is answer enough.

“Why  _are_  you here?” he asks Phil, sounding far more inconvenienced than a paralysed bed-ridden patient ought to sound. Really, thinks Phil, he deserves to be  _thanked_ , not subjected to twenty questions by the most impolite Slytherin boy in Hogwarts.

“Binns,” Phil tells him shortly.

“Oh.” Howell rolls his eyes at him. “That explains the books.”

Phil looks at the pile of them floating cheerfully by the end of Dan’s bed, and has to try relatively hard to suppress a smug grin. “Apparently being stuck in the infirmary doesn’t excuse you from your obligations as a student,” Phil observes quietly.

Dan’s voice is soft and sharp when he says, “ _Fuck_  you, Phil.”

“I heard,” Phil carries on, “That ninety-three per cent of them are from Weasley. Three essays in total, by next Wednesday. If you start yesterday, you might actually make the deadline.”

“You’re fucking enjoying this, aren’t you?” Dan accuses, his face now a pleasant shade of red. Phil just smirks at him. “Fucking  _sadist_ ,” Dan adds.

“Posh choice of words,” Phil says.

There’s a pathetic rustling of sheets as Dan tries his level best to push himself up. His face is scrunched up in concentration, and then fills with heartbreaking disappointment when the paralysed parts of his body refuse to cooperate. Phil tells himself not to pity the boy, but it doesn’t quite work.

When Dan says, “I prefer articulate,” he sounds too miffed to come across as cross. And he looks a tad adorable, really.

“Maybe if you weren’t such an  _arsehole_  all the time,” Phil begins mildly, but the glare that Dan cuts to him makes him fall silent. He slumps back in his seat and runs a hand through his hair, messing up his fringe unintentionally. Then he looks at Dan again and says, “Have you been smuggling silly weed into the school?”

Dan, whose eyes are trained on the dark blue sheets pulled up to his waist, does nothing to indicate he’s heard Phil at all.

Phil sighs. “Do you even plan on getting started on the essays?”

Once again, petulant child that he is, Dan doesn’t move an inch and says all but nothing. Phil shakes his head and makes to stand up, taking the boy’s silence as a cue to leave. And he’s about to - is halfway out of the curtain-bound makeshift room, actually - when Dan calls him back.

“C’mere,” he says, and when Phil turns to look at him there’s something dark in his brown eyes.  _Uh oh_ , he thinks, and in an action that reflects perfectly his intelligence, goes to the side of Dan’s bed.

“Bend down,” says Dan again, waiting patiently for Phil to lean down so that their noses are inches away from each other. There’s the smell of infirmary in the air, but here close to Dan it mixes with the smell of berries and shaving gel and teenage angst. Dan stares at him for a moment, his eyes more intense that Phil’s ever seen him be, and then in a fantastic display of upper body strength, Dan pushes himself up to capture Phil’s mouth in a hot, searing kiss.

 _He’s goddamn paralysed_ , is the first thought that flits through Phil’s poor, confused brain. But it’s quickly replaced by  _oh god, so good_  and, really, it just gets worse from there. Feeling bad for the boy and his ridiculously toned stomach, Phil pushes Dan down until he’s resting on the bed again, and then leans over him to kiss him till they both lose their breaths. It’s been a while since Phil’s gotten a hard-on in his jeans just from the way Howell’s tongue moves against his own, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t miss this.

Dan pulls away eventually, and he’s panting loudly in Phil’s ear when he says, “Not paralysed  _everywhere_ , you see.”

And that’s most definitely Phil’s cue to leave.

+

“You’re red in the face,” says PJ in the evening, when he walks into the boys’ Ravenclaw dormitory with what looks like two bags of things from Honeydukes. Phil finds himself hoping at least half of those are for him. Then PJ goes to say, “And what’s this I hear about you sneaking around to visit Howell in the infirmary?”

Then Phil finds himself throwing a sock at the boy.

“You’re even redder now,” notices PJ, throwing one bag onto Phil’s bed before falling back onto his own. He pushes himself up by an elbow and looks at Phil with two crooked eyebrows. “You secretly fuckin’ him or the like?”

Phil cringes. He knows that PJ only means it as a joke, though, so doesn’t do something stupid - like  _admit_  to it. “Sure,” he snorts derisively. Or, at least, tries to. “Your sources have become unreliable, Peej.”

PJ laughs at him. “My source is ‘Lizabeth  _Farthing_ , really, so - “

“Farthing?” Phil barges in. “How’d she find out - “

“Aha!” PJ’s pointing both of his index fingers at Phil now, a look of sheer triumph on his face. “So you  _are_  sneaking around to visit Howell in the Infirmary!”

“I am -  _not_?” But it comes out as uncertain as he feels. Frowning about being caught in a sort-of lie, he scoots up his bed and hugs his legs to his chest. “It’s really not what you think it is,” he goes to clarify.

“Mate,” says PJ grandly, “I don’t  _know_  what to think.”

But his eyes are full of humour, so Phil figures he’s being true to his word. He waits for PJ to press further, to ask him why he’s been sneaking around to see Dan fucking Howell of all the people in this archaic school, but PJ doesn’t continue the train of talk. He remains still, studying Phil quietly for a moment in a way PJ is sometimes prone to do, before flashing him a bright smile. Then he stands up quickly, stretches, and says, “Man, I’m  _knackered_.”

PJ, Phil decides, is a good friend.

+

It bugs him still, that Elizabeth knew he had been seeing Howell in the infirmary. It’s a bit unsettling that he’d been so transparent, so easy to figure out, even though she’s bound to have sources who’d have told her anyway. Phil spends the rest of the weekend in the Ravenclaw common room, pouring over books and writing seven feet of parchment in total while people around him walk in and out, speaking in hushed voices because Ravenclaws know to respect those who choose to study. Even Amy and Elizabeth leave him to his lonesome.

His self-induced solitariness ends Sunday night, when after dinner Amy asks him if he’d like to go for a walk with Elizabeth and her around the grounds. Behind Amy, Elizabeth looks rather bummed that she’s asking Phil to come along, so Phil smartly refuses. In response to Amy’s pout he  _stupidly_  says he’s got somewhere to be. Elizabeth’s ears perk up and she studies him keenly, and Phil realises that even if he were to return to the Ravenclaw common room now, there is no way to salvage the situation.

So he kips to the infirmary instead.

“Back, are you?” says Madam Pomfrey. She’s standing at the other end of the long room, wand in hand. With a quick wave the drapes turn in and the room is instantly darkened, and Phil half-expects her to admonish him for coming to visit after hours. But she disappears into the nurse’s room with a smug little  _look_  on her face and Phil figures he’s welcome. To some extent.

In hindsight, it really wasn’t reason enough to come see Howell. He’d told Amy and Elizabeth that he had somewhere to be, but that ‘somewhere’ could just as easily have been the Ravenclaw common room with his books surrounding him. It didn’t  _have_  to be the infirmary, that had a sleeping and, if not that, most probably grumpy dark-haired Slytherin boy who wasn’t even his  _friend_.

Howell is, as it turns out, not sleeping. He’s propped up in his bed with what looks like an army of pillows, a thick book sitting on his lap and a mostly empty piece of parchment sitting over that.  _He’s studying by wandlight_ , realises Phil in surprise, and has to check again to make sure he’s walking towards the right bed.

“Hi,” says Howell when he’s close enough, eyes not moving to greet him like his voice does. Phil wordlessly settles into the chair beside his bed and watches him. He’s got a bit more colour in his cheeks and doesn’t look as sickly and pathetic as he did before. There’s a quiet defiance in the line of his jaw, a softness in the puff of his lips. He looks for the first time like the young fifth-year that he is.

“Studying?” asks Phil after a while. It turns out that wasn’t exactly the smartest thing he could’ve said.

“No shit,” contributes Dan predictably, still not moving to acknowledge Phil’s presence. He lifts up the bit of parchment to turn a page, eyes running down it hastily. “I can’t - “ he starts, then apparently thinks better of it and falls silent again. Phil leans forward to catch a glimpse of the page he’s got open - something about Arithmancy, which has never been his strongest subject. However he isn’t particularly  _bad_  at it, either.

“Need some help?” he finds himself asking.

Dan raises his head to look at him now, and his face is crafted into a familiar scowl. “No, thanks.”

Phil shrugs. “Just seems like you’re having a hard time, is all.” He realises the innuendo in his words a tad too late, and while he desperately tries not to blush a bright red, he watches Howell smirk at his textbook.

“Maybe you’re just projecting,” Dan suggests lightly, and Phil has to clench his hand into a fist to stop himself from punching someone (read: himself) in the face.

He opens his mouth to say something - to take his leave, probably, because  _why_  is he even here in the first place? - but then there’s a loud bang in the Infirmary, the sound of doors being thrown open, and Phil jumps to his feet in surprise.

Dan looks up, too, his face frowning in confusion.

“What was - “ he begins, but is interrupted by another louder voice from beyond the curtains saying, “Howell!”

The voice is loud, authoritative, and Phil’s blood runs cold. “Shit,” says Dan. “Phil.  _Phil_.”

Phil whirls to look at him, already reaching for his wand. “Madam Pomfrey,” he starts to say, but Dan’s shaking his head violently at him, motioning with his eyes to a space beside his bed. There are heavy footsteps coming evidently for Dan’s still concealed bed, and the same loud voice once again calls out, “Howell? I know you’re in here.”

Following his impulses and relying on his adrenaline alone, Phil darts away from the opening between the curtains and into the little space beside Dan’s bed, taps his wand to the back of his neck and mutters a disillusionment charm a millisecond before the curtains are wrenched back. A tall, tanned seventh-year with a French beard steps through.

“Howell,” says the boy with a snide smile, and Phil mentally utters every curse he can think of. He knew Dan was a trouble-maker, a no-good knowitall who fucked with everyone in Hogwarts and their bloody mother. But he’d always assumed - had always  _hoped_  - that Dan knew to stay away from Miles Lestrange.

Evidently, he didn’t.

“Miles,” Phil hears Dan say, his voice soft and perfunctory. “Pleasure to see you - “

“I’m not here for niceties, Dan,” declares Lestrange, his robes glittering a dark scarlet in Dan’s wandlight. There’s a glint in his eyes that can’t be described as anything but evil.

“Then you’d better go,” snides Dan. Right in this moment, Phil can’t decide if the boy deserves to be shielded or cursed. If he dies tonight half-paralysed in a bed he hasn’t left for five days, Phil vows he’ll have everyone know it was nobody’s fault but Howell’s. Even if Miles were the one to mutter the curse.

“You know what?” says Miles, laughing quietly. “I don’t think I will. I’ve got a bit of - well, unfinished business, you could say. I’d thought before that sending Dominique and Abbas would have taught you a lesson, but it turns out you don’t like being taught.”

“It’s my least favourite thing to be subjected to, actually,” contributes Dan, and it’s probably a testimony to how hard Phil’s listening that he hears a slight waver in his voice.

“You did fight back,” Lestrange recounts. “You are brave. But, you see,  _I’m_  the one in Gryffindor.”

It all happens very fast. A jet of bright red light bursts out of a wand Lestrange conjures from seemingly nowhere, and a moment before it can hit Dan straight in the face, Phil yells  _Protego_ , wand still in hand.

White light is everywhere, blinding, loud. There’s the sound of a body crashing to the floor, and Phil hopes to all the Wizarding gods that it’s the sound of poor Lestrange knocked back by the force of Phil’s shielding spell, and not of Dan rolling off his bed and landing on his bum. Right now would be a  _really_  inconvenient time for Dan to regain his ability to feel his limbs.

Just as Phil becomes convinced his retinas might explode, the white light shooting out from his wand begins to fade, and eventually die out completely. The curtains surrounding Dan’s bed rustle as if someone’s just stumbled past them, and not long after comes the sound of the Infirmary door slamming shut.

Dan is still in his bed, breathing hard, and Phil falls down into the chair beside it. 

Then a from the other end of the Infirmary voice yells, “What the ever-loving  _fuck_?”

“You’d better go,” Dan tells him quickly.

“But - “ Phil begins, eyes on Dan. He looks small, frail, red in the cheeks, and sufficiently shaken up. Phil can’t - he doesn’t  _want_  to leave Dan this way.

“I’ll be fine,” Dan says. “Madam Pomfrey’ll spare me her wrath, but you aren’t half-paralysed and helpless in bed. She’ll chalk it down to you in no time.”

“She saw me here,” Phil whispers in a rush, for footsteps have already begun to sound and he’s still in his chair, regaining his breath. “She knows I was still around - “

“I’ll tell her you left early. I’ll blame it all on Lestrange - Phil,  _please_.” Dan looks desperate, his face twisted into one of concern, and Phil realises that it’s the first time he’s seen Dan display this level of emotion to him - to anyone, really. And he’s taken aback, to say the least.

“Fine,” he says eventually, getting to his feet. He rubs his clothes down, then looks back at Dan one last time. “I’ll come see you tomorrow,” he hears himself saying.

“Yeah,” Dan responds, eyes unreadable. “Yeah, yeah,  _go_.”

Phil gets out past the curtains and makes it to the Infirmary doors unnoticed in the darkness. Just as he slips out of the Infirmary, he hears Madam Pomfrey walk into Dan’s little cubicle, her voice booming and miffed. When he reenters the Ravenclaw common room later that night, his cheeks are flushed and his hair is messy, and Elizabeth Farthing fixes him with a look like nothing she’s ever given him before.

And that wicked  _protego_  he’d conjured earlier has probably made him go bonkers, but for a moment he’s convinced Farthing’s eyes say,  _I’ll keep your secret safe. Promise._

+

Phil fully intends to go back and visit Dan first thing after classes Monday. He isn’t sure  _what_  to tell the boy, and is still half-scared of facing Pomfrey, but he can’t see past the bottomless pit of concern that’s burrowed deep into his chest. He isn’t entirely sure when he began caring for the Slytherin trouble-maker, but he has, and that - he supposes - is that.

But as it turns out, things don’t exactly go to plan. In fact, things deviate as far away from The Plan as they could have possibly deviated. Three-quarters through Divination, a fancy cat patronus materialises on Trelawney’s table, slinks over her tea cups and glass balls and whatnot, and drops to the ground in front of Phil’s desk. It looks Phil in the eye, opens its mouth and says, disconcertingly, in Headmistress McGonagall’s voice: “I would like to see you in my office now, Mr. Lester, if you please.”

There is a confused titter that goes around the classroom, and Elizabeth Farthing who’s conveniently sitting behind him pokes him with her wand and whispers, “What’ve you done now, Lester?” Which, Phil thinks, is unwarranted. It’s not like he does things regularly that land him in the headmistress’ office. But then again, he  _does_  do Dan Howell, and that must count for something.

“Run along then, Phil Lester,” says Trelawny dreamily, not looking up from PJ’s glass ball that she’s been peering into for the last twenty minutes or so. As Phil gets to his feet and gathers his things, he hears her gasp loudly. “It can’t be!” she proclaims for what might possibly be the seventh time this class alone. Phil can almost hear half of the class fall asleep.

He is plagued with thoughts the entire walk to McGonagall’s office. It’s obvious to him that she most definitely wants to enquire about whatever happened in the infirmary last night, but he isn’t quite sure how much he’s expected to say. If Dan had stuck to their thrown-together plan, he wasn’t even  _there_  at the time Miles Lestrange gallantly attempted to murder Howell. (Injure, disembowel. Whatever.) But he still doesn’t feel entirely comfortable lying to the headmistress - his  _thing_  with Dan Howell may have brought him a huge deal of stress and distress over the past few days, but it certainly isn’t worth getting expelled over. Of one thing, however, he is sure - if he were admonished for casting a spell that may or may not have potentially harmed Lestrange, he wouldn’t take it back. Not for the world.

McGonagall is waiting at the gargoyle for him, and mutters something under her breath that causes it to rotate and reveal a storey of stairs. He follows her up them quietly, heart beating erratically in his chest, and is not in the least surprised to see Howell in his Infirmary bed waiting for them in her office. He  _is_ , however, surprised to see a nervous Miles Lestrange sitting a few paces to the left of him.

“Phil,” Dan says with an aborted grin. Phil shoots him one back, before perching apprehensively in the armchair on the other side of Dan’s bed. McGonagall circles the table and sits down across from the three of them, crosses her arms in front of her and peers at them down her pointy little nose.

“Boys,” she says, “You might both be aware of the reason I’ve called you here today.”

From the corner of his eye, Phil sees Dan give her a small nod. He moves his head appropriately, and wiggles his toes just to make sure this isn’t just a bad dream.

“To clarify,” continues McGonagall, “I have been informed of a confrontation that occurred in the Infirmary last night. Mr. Lestrange threatened and attacked Mr. Howell in his semi-paralysed state. Am I correct so far?”

Dan nods again, and Phil mutters a quiet, “Yes, Professor.” On the other side of Dan’s bed, Lestrange remains silent.

“Prior to this, he confessed to sending Dominique Fitzgerald and Abbas Salim to attack Dan Howell with the intention to injure?”

Dan says this time, “Yes, Professor.” His voice is dry and cracks at  _professor_ , and Phil spares him a fleeting and concerned glance. The boy looks fine, however, if not a little bit intimidated. There’s a glint in his eye, that familiar one that says,  _I got this_. Phil is temporarily comforted.

“And am I to understand that these two boys are responsible for your current state, Mr. Howell?”

“Yes, Professor,” says Dan again, and Phil finds himself memorising their names. For future reference, he tells himself, while simultaneously making a mental note to ask Amy for the cruelest, most harmful legal curses she’s heard of.

“And lastly,” says McGonagall, a hint of resolution in her voice. “Phil Lester, you were present at this confrontation - albeit under a disillusionment charm, I am to assume - and protected Howell from further harm to his sorry state by using a  _Protego_. Correct?”

“Correct,” says Phil quietly, blood rushing to his cheeks. Miles turns to look at him, a frown etched deep into his face, the epitome of confusion. Phil wants to laugh in that moment, giddy from the realisation that he’d fooled Miles  _Lestrange_ , the pure evil Year Seven whom even Dan was afraid of, no matter how hard he tried to hide it. His giddiness is quickly replaced with apprehension, however. McGonagall is a Gryffindor through and through, and even now Phil knows she’s unlikely to go against her own house, regardless of the facts presented to her. He waits for her to say something, almost completely ready to be given a punishment; three afternoons a week with Filch, a walk in the Forest with Hagrid...

And then Professor McGonagall smiles.

“Mr. Howell,” she says. “Miles Lestrange seems to be under the impression that you have a large amount of silly weed in your possession. Is he correct?”

“He is not, Professor,” Dan replies. Phil finds himself releasing a breath he didn’t know he was holding all this while, and the tight knot in his chest loosens by a bit.  _Not all stupid_ , he thinks, side-eying Howell in his sick bed. Miles Lestrange makes a sound halfway between a gasp and an indignant squawk.

“And therefore Dominique and Abbas had no right to attack you, yes?”

“Yes, Professor,” Dan replies. He’s beginning to sound the slightest bit optimistic, and it sneaks across and into Phil’s head.

“Well then.” She sighs once, nods twice and makes a tiny flourish with her hands. “That’s that, I suppose. Twenty points to Ravenclaw for exemplary behaviour in protecting a friend. Sixty points from Gryffindor for unwarranted violence. Ten points from Slytherin for purposefully being a nuisance.”

Miles looks pissed, Phil is relieved and Dan looks inexplicably smug. Then Professor McGonagall dismisses them and disappears into her study at the back of the office, and Miles Lestrange storms out, and then it’s just Phil and Dan with the dozen or so Headmasters in their frames.

“Purposefully being a nuisance,” Phil says, turning to Dan and smirking. “Sounds about right.”

“Oh, fuck off, Lester,” says Dan without contempt, a tiny grin on his mouth.  _Dimples_ , Phil thinks, and has to look away.

“I’ve got to get back to class,” he says.

“Go on then. Pomfrey will come get me, I presume.”

“Any idea when you’ll get your limbs back?”

“Should be soon,” replies Dan, and then adds in a filthy whisper: “Can’t wait to fuck me again, can you?”

Phil blushes a bright red, shakes his head and laughs a little. “You’d think you’d have  _some_  decency - “

“Decency’s boring,” proclaims Dan, sounding far too posh to be alive. When Phil looks back at him he’s smiling, on the verge of a laugh, and his eyes are twinkling with friendly mirth. Phil thinks he can get used to this version of Dan. Then Dan says, “Thank you,”, and his stomach swoops.

“For what?” asks Phil.

“Exemplary behaviour in protecting a friend.”

“Oh.” Phil flushes again. “Right. Well, uh, it was really - I mean.” He stops, shuts his eyes tight and shakes his head, ridiculously embarrassed in this moment. “It really wasn’t anything,” he manages eventually. “But you’re welcome.”

“Alright.” Dan laughs, a little snarkily but Phil chooses to ignore that. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Trelawny,” Phil supplies, and makes a face.

“Off you go, then.”

Phil looks at him one last time, his defeated Slytherin half-paralysed in an Infirmary bed, and feels a twinge of affection in his chest that has _no right_ being there. “I’ll see you later,” he says quietly, and he  _doesn’t_  run out of the headmistress’ office, but it’s a struggle.

+

The next time he stops by the Infirmary, obligatory pile of books Levitating behind him (Binns is warming up to him, he thinks), the shades of the room have been pulled up and the room is flooded with light, and the curtains that usually surround Dan’s bed have been drawn back to reveal a less complainy, more pliant Dan Howell.

(Given the boy’s current partially paralysed state, Phil wonders if it’s Madam Pomfrey who props him up with his pillows and sets a book on his lap for him to study from every day. The hypothetical scene is rather endearing, and Phil finds himself forcing down a grin. Another alternative would be that Dan’s already mastered wandless spells, which isn’t as adorable as it is infuriating and highly unlikely, so Phil dismisses it.)

“Hey,” says Phil, once he’s occupied what has by now become his usual spot beside Dan’s bed. For once, his sheets are off and folded at the foot of the bed. He’s wearing a fitting black t-shirt over a similar shade of jeans. The look is a dreary contrast to the bright day, but nonetheless very Dan. Phil motions to the book on Dan’s lap with his chin and says, “Glad to see you’ve been working hard.” He’s teasing, but only a little.

Dan responds appropriately, by sniffing and rolling his eyes, not looking at Phil once.

“Well I’ve got you more things to do, if it’s any consolation.” Phil knows he sounds a bit like a prick, but that’s no deviation from Dan’s permanent state, so he figures he’ll be forgiven. “I feel I ought to be rewarded for all of my hard work,” Phil wonders aloud in Dan’s continued silence. “Don’t you, Dan? I was thinking a handjob should settle it, although I wouldn’t mind you going down on me, since you seem to relish it so - “

“You’re usually more filtered than this,” comments Dan in what sounds like forced casualness. When he raises his eyes to meet Phil’s, he seems to be fighting to keep a straight face, his cheeks a pleasant shade of pink.

“I figured, what’s the point?” Phil replies, making a flamboyant sort of flourish with his hands. “Might as well be frank about what I want.”

Dan raises an eyebrow at him. “You seem to be in high spirits today. What’s up? How many inches of parchment do I have due tomorrow? Go on, tell me. I’ll take it like a man.”

“Oh, you’ll cry.”

“You’ll allow me a couple of tears, won’t you?”

Phil laughs, shaking his head and looking out the window behind Dan’s bed. He can see the Quidditch pitch from here, where his classmates have taken advantage of the pleasant Sunday morning to have another impromptu inter-house match. Elizabeth Farthing had invited him to accompany her and Amy there, and he’s politely declined. She hadn’t said a word, her eyes kind and slightly sympathetic. Phil thinks he knows now why she hasn’t told everyone yet that Phil’s been visiting Dan Howell semi-regularly during his tenure in the infirmary. Amy’s a hard rock to crack, but Phil kind of hopes she does eventually. Elizabeth and Amy rather deserve each other.

When he looks back at Dan, the boy quickly looks away. “Take a picture - “ Phil begins, but Dan cuts him off with a sharp, “Don’t you fucking  _dare_ ,” and Phil falls silent, grinning still.

They sit in silence for a while, Dan pouring over the book in his lap and occasionally jerking his chin at it, which causes a page to turn. (Wandless magic it is, and Phil finds himself bristling quietly at that.) Phil’s staring, he’s well aware of it, but no matter how harshly he berates himself in his mind, he’s also ridiculously unable to stop. Thing is, Dan looks different today. Soft, blurred around the edges. The silence is new but it isn’t uncomfortable, and Phil has since realised that it’s because, for the first time since Phil began coming to see Dan in the infirmary, the boy actually  _wants_  him here. And it’s hard to reconcile this person with the one who used to regularly fuck with Phil and god knows how many other innocent seven-years. This version of Dan feels precious, accidental and a little bit like a secret. He wonders what it might be like to kiss Dan when he’s like this. He wonders if it’ll feel any different from all of the other times.

“Is Madam Pomfrey here?” he finds himself asking, voice still low.

Dan looks up at him, eyebrows furrowed. “No,” he says. “She left earlier and told me not to cause too much trouble in her absence.”

Phil wonders where she must have gone - probably to Hogsmeade, like half of the school population, although would it be advisable for the resident nurse to leave the school? He doesn’t know. He draws the curtains as a safety precaution, before slowly climbing onto Dan’s bed.

“What are you - “ Dan begins, and Phil cuts him off with a cocky, “What do you think?”

Dan shuts up at that, his widened eyes the only giveaway to the shock he probably feels inside. Phil knows he’s being weird, out of character. He’s never been the one to start it, never been the one to actively seek Dan. He supposes he doesn’t really have a choice now that Dan’s half paralysed. He tries telling himself that’s the only reason why he’s doing this as he sits on Dan’s numb legs, careful with his weight even though he knows Dan won’t feel a thing. He leans down enough so that when Dan exhales, his breath tickles Phil’s upper lip, and then in one fluid motion he closes the gap and kisses him.

He tastes the same. Of heat and mischief, his tongue tracing Phil’s lips before delving in. Dan pushes into him, raising his shoulders as far as he can, fighting against his paralysed state to the best of his ability, but Phil won’t have it. He pushes Dan down with his palms on his shoulders, holds him there as he leans in and rejoins their lips. Dan strains against him for a few short moments before giving in, soft and pliant under Phil’s hands. When Phil pulls away, his breath comes in short puffs against Dan’s face, and the boy’s pupils are blown wide, his lips plump and pleasantly pink. He wasn’t aware he’d missed kissing Dan this much, wasn’t aware till he’d done it again, and all he could do was take, and take, and take.

He drags his lips down Dan’s cheek, pressing them into his jaw and breathing hard. Then he traces his fingers around the soft skin of Dan’s neck and places a soft kiss there. “Can you feel that?” he asks quietly.

Almost imperceptibly, Dan nods.

Phil pulls away, but only to lift the textbook off of Dan’s lap and place it carefully on the chair he’d been previously occupying. Then he’s reattaching his mouth to Dan’s neck, biting softly at the skin there, eager to leave a mark. Above him, Dan tosses his head back and gasps, a breathy sound Phil isn’t sure he’s ever had before. It is lovely, and he resolves to instigate it more often. When he pulls back, there is a satisfying red mark where his lips and teeth once more, and Dan croaks out in a raspy voice, “Phil?”

It’s obvious he’s still trying to move his body, the frustration evident in his eyes as his limbs fail to coordinate with his intentions. His intentions - Phil wonders what they might be. Would Dan reverse their positions, push Phil into the bed instead and lean over him, that familiar expression of pure want on his face? Or would he pull Phil closer, circle his arms around his back till they were pressed chest to chest, not a pocket of air in between?

Phil raises his head to look at Dan. His eyes are dark with intent, his bottom lip pulled into his mouth, no doubt for him to bite onto. Phil makes a shushing sound before reaching down and grabbing the ends of Dan’s shirt. “May I?” he asks, if only for the sake of curtesy. The shirt is off before Dan can nod, flung carelessly to the floor as Phil stares down at Dan’s now exposed belly, chest, shoulders. He hopes his gaze is appreciative, because it’s how he feels, and he thinks Dan ought to know how beautiful Phil finds him. He mentally saves the conversation for a later date, figures Dan is sufficiently freaked out right now.

He leans in again to trace a pattern with his fingers down Dan’s neck, across his sharp collar bones and to the curve of his shoulder. He presses his lips next to his fingers, whispering over there, “Can you feel this?”

Dan nods, and gives a short huff of laughter. Phil supposes Dan has caught on to what he’s doing, and he smiles softly as he draws a pattern down his arms and to his palm, scratching his nails gently against the soft tips of Dan’s fingers. “Can you feel this?” he asks.

This time, Dan shakes his head. Phil hesitates briefly before raising Dan’s palm to his lips and pressing a soft kiss there. When he looks again at Dan his eyes are already trained on him, his lips slightly parted, his breath heavy between them. Unable to resist himself Phil leans in again to steal another kiss from those red lips, and then pulls away to say, “I’m going to blow you now. Is that okay?”

“God,” Dan laughs, even as his hips buck upwards involuntarily. “Yes, Phil,” he breathily adds. “ _Yes_.”

As Phil makes quick work of Dan’s jeans, his fingers shake, but only slightly. It isn’t like he’s never sucked Dan off before, because he  _has_ , numerous times and at numerous places. But he thinks he can be forgiven for thinking that it feels different this time, with Dan lying underneath him, soft and pliant, the fight sucked out of his body.

He pulls his jeans and pants down to his ankles, and then takes his stiffening cock in his hand. Dan audibly sucks in a breath, eyes shut tight, chewing on his bottom lip again. “You’re so sensitive,” Phil remarks in awe. He gives Dan’s cock three languid strokes, watching it harden at leisure, before sinking down and taking it into his mouth in one quick motion.

Above him, Dan shouts, “ _Fuck_.”

Phil hides his grin around Dan’s cock, pulling back to swirl his tongue around the tip, playing with the foreskin there. Dan lets out a string of swears, his voice broken and interspersed with harsh breaths. Realising Dan is already close, Phil sinks down once again, taking in as much of Dan as he can, breathing heavily and feeling reverently full. Dan pushes his hips up, short and aborted movements that make him sound even more wrecked and wanton, and Phil is so hard in his jeans he thinks he might cry.

Then Dan comes, and as he swallows around him he finds himself hoping to every god that exists that nobody should decide to walk into the Infirmary right now, or in the near future, because Phil isn’t leaving with the boner in his pants. Dan is quiet through his orgasm, letting nothing but his harsh breaths sound, very obviously holding back. Phil fights down his disappointment, his intent to make Dan scream for him, to make him  _plead_. Another time, he decides, pulling off of Dan’s cock with an obscene  _pop_.

In an instant he pushes his own jeans and pants down, taking his own cock in his hands and stroking it quickly, hips bucking forward of their own accord. “Phil,” Dan’s saying, and Phil almost doesn’t hear him, except he does. His eyes fly open and Dan says, again, “Phil.” Then, quietly: “On me, Phil. Come on, please, come on me.”

The rush of blood to Phil’s dick is so sudden he feels positively dizzy. Dan is flushed, ridiculously so, his eyes looking everywhere but at Phil, but Phil knows how to recognise desperation. He scoots forward, leaning over Dan and stroking himself faster, and it’s the way that Dan looks that does it for him: his dark his, his flushed skin, his mouth hanging open, his hair wild. He’s only ever seen Dan this way in his dreams, a Dan who has let go, who’s let Phil in. He comes on Dan’s chest, falling forward and kissing Dan messily through it. He’s saying something against Dan’s lips, something stupid he’s sure, probably incoherent.

He stays that way till he’s calmed down enough, and then he fetches his wand and casts a cleaning charm on them both. Dan is silent as Phil pulls his pants up and buttons his jeans, and then does the same for Dan. He climbs off of the bed and bends down to pick up his t-shirt, helping him into it before perching apprehensively on the bed beside Dan’s feet.

Dan’s still breathing hard, but making an obvious effort to control it. He smirks at Phil but it’s a little bit shaky. “What was  _that_?”

“Don’t know.” Phil shrugs. “Thought you could do with a little pick-me-up. So to speak.”

Dan sputters at that, shaking his head and looking away. Phil continues to stare at Dan, at his pale skin and cheekbones, all corners and sharp edges. He wonders if Dan knows what Phil’s thinking right now. He wonders if Dan would run if he did.  _I like you_ , he tries experimentally in his head. Dan doesn’t flinch.  _I have feelings for you_ , he elaborates mentally. Dan turns to look at him sharply, and Phil almost jumps.

“What’s the time?” Dan asks.

“Oh,” says Phil, relieved that Dan isn’t secretly a Legilimens on top of every other odd skill he possesses. He checks the watch on his hand and says, “One-thirty.”

“You should go,” Dan suggests, and Phil doesn’t want it to sting but it does anyway. “The elves will be by with my lunch soon, and I don’t think - I don’t. Um. I need to, to study.”

He makes an aborted attempt to reach out of his book resting on the chair beside the bed, and frowns down at his arm when it refuses to comply. He looks cute like this, like a ruffled child. Phil pushes the thought out of his head.

“Right,” he says, nodding swiftly. He reaches for the textbook and replaces it carefully on Dan’s lap.  _It’s just a hook up_ , he tells himself, a mantra that feels oddly unfamiliar after tucking it away for so long.  _It’s just a hook up. It’s just a hook up._  “I’ll be off, then. Good luck with your many inches of parchment.”

“You may rest assured I will slave away on them,” Dan tells him.

“And hand them in on time, as well?” asks Phil, a drop of mock astonishment seeping into his voice.

“Maybe if I start yesterday.” Dan smiles ruefully at him, his brown eyes soft and searching. Phil doesn’t want to leave, but he supposes he must.

+

The next day, Elizabeth Farthing and Amy Stroup come to breakfast are  _holding hands_. PJ snorts around his scone, crumbs of it falling from his lips and onto his school robes and plate and lap. Phil stares.

“You’re staring,” Amy informs him, voice even if not a little stiff. Elizabeth slides into the seat opposite Phil’s, and consequently Amy follows. They have to let go of each other to get some food into their mouths, but Elizabeth keeps looking at Amy out of the corner of her eyes, and when Amy turns to her to say something about Quidditch or Professor Weasley or fuck-knows-what, Elizabeth raises a finger to brush a breadcrumb from Amy’s bottom lip. Amy blushes, and Phil stares.

“You’re staring,” Elizabeth informs him, this time. She raises an eyebrow at him and digs into her hotdog.

“You - “ Phil begins, and then falls silent. He opens his mouth and tries again. “Are you - is it, I mean.  _When?_ ” PJ begins to laugh, and Phil does not kick him in the ankle under the table. He does  _not_.

“When what?” Elizabeth asks. Phil frowns at her because, come on, now she’s purposely being difficult.

“Liz,” says Amy softly, elbowing her a little ways under her ribs, and all Phil can think is  _harder, please, don’t bother being gentle_. Then he thinks  _Liz_? and then,  _et tu, Amy?_  She looks at him a little pityingly when she says, “Yesterday, after the Quidditch match.” She follows her words with a shrug, like she really can’t help how gone she is for Elizabeth fucking Farthing.

“In front of the stands, too,” adds PJ jovially, reaching for another scone and then grabbing a third one on second thought. “ _Everybody_  was watching.”

Phil turns to him, his mouth slightly agape. “ _What_  happened in front of the stands?”

PJ makes a crumby, kissy face at him and Phil blanches.

“Oh, come on,” Amy cajoles, and then she giggles. She  _giggles_. “You can’t say you didn’t see it coming.”

Elizabeth’s looking at him with an evil little glint in her eye, and Phil kind of wants to strangle her, except he also kind of wants to pat her on the head, because he knows she’s good for Amy. He  _knows_. But she’s still Elizabeth fucking Farthing, which is why he doesn’t pat her on the head, or do anything else that’ll give away how endeared he is by them.

After breakfast, Amy ducks under his arms to steal a hug from him, and Phil squeezes her tentatively. “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me immediately after,” he confesses quietly into her ear.

“I would have, except you were in the Infirmary in the morning, and I was with Liz for the rest of the day.”

Phil can’t help how violently he shudders at that, and Amy pulls back to laugh at him and punch him playfully in the arm. “Be nice to my girlfriend and I’ll be nice to Dan,” she says.

“You don’t - what?” Not for the first time that day, Phil mentally curses Elizabeth Farthing to hell, and is optimistic for her that he’s never bothered mastering wandless magic just yet. “Dan isn’t my boyfriend. Shut  _up_.” But she’s already got her eyebrows raised, mirthful laughter coming out of her in short bursts as they walk to their first class together.

“Be nice to my girlfriend,” she tells him again.

“Stop calling her Liz,” he shoots back, and then throws an arm around her and pulls her close. He thinks he can live with Elizabeth and Amy being a thing, he tells himself, and tries his best to push down the small, protesting hole of emptiness in his chest.

He’ll drop by the Infirmary at lunch, he thinks.

+

He  _does_  drop by the Infirmary at lunch, except Madam Pomfrey greets him at the door with a confused frown. “What’ve you gone and done to yourself?” she asks him before he can open his mouth, and he closes it to shake her head at her.

He begins with, “I’m here for - “ but she cuts him off brisquely.

“There’s nobody here,” she says. “Your friend Daniel too was discharged this morning. Got his arms and legs back finally, bless him.” Phil might be mistaken, but she does sound just the little bit fond. “Now unless you’ve fallen from your broom and dislocated your glabella, you’d best leave. Go on then.”

Phil leaves the Infirmary at her insistence, slightly miffed that Dan hadn’t informed him at once that he wasn’t half-paralysed anymore. He wonders why his friends haven’t been telling him things, and he wonders it all the way to Potions.

+

He purposely goes out to the grounds in the evenings, his half-finished Arithmancy homework tucked underneath his arm. It’s  _not_  because he hasn’t seen Dan since finding out he’d been discharged, and it’s definitely not because he’s dying to see the boy all jovial and motile again, but he kind of is?

The thing is, Phil tells himself firmly as he finds a quiet spot near the lake to lie in the grass and get his books open. The  _thing_  is that he worries for Dan. He’d never thought the day would come, but after the months of being his secret fuck-buddy, sneaking around to see him in the stupidest nooks and crannies of Hogwarts, and after lying for him to PJ and Elizabeth and  _Amy_ , and after standing up to  _Miles_  fucking  _Lestrange_  for him, and then sucking him off in the Infirmary because he was horny and Dan was  _there_ , looking all open and trusting and new. After all of that, Phil’s sort of come to care for Dan. He’s become attached to him. It’s stupid. He  _knows_.

But he wants to see Dan again. To breath against his neck and feel the warmth of his skin, to have Dan’s strong hand circle his waist and pull him closer. He wants to have reaffirmation that Dan cares too. That Dan wants him, too. That Dan wants him still.

Phil stays out late. The sun sets, and the second-years splashing about in the Lake retreat back to the castle for dinner, and he stays out still, despite the protests of his churning stomach. He finishes his homework by wandlight and then rolls onto his back, stares up at the stars. He finds the constellation of Orion and thinks of the new stories they’re taught in History of Magic, the stories of the prankster with the messy hair and the traitor rat, and a man called Sirius and his werewolf best friend. Phil reaches out and curls his fingers into the grass, pretends it’s the soft cotton of Dan’s sweatshirt, and then he stands up and brushes off his jeans, collects his things and heads back to the castle.

He bypasses the Dining hall, not quite in the mood of seeing Elizabeth and Amy being all lovey-dovey with each other, and takes a detour down every hallway that Dan’s blown him in. He thinks it’s a little pathetic that he remembers every single one, but it’s probably even more pathetic that he slumps dejectedly into the Ravenclaw tower after finding all of them empty.

+

A week passes. Elizabeth and Amy get more disgusting by the day, and to Phil’s horror he finds himself actually  _liking_  the soft, gentle Elizabeth who kisses Amy on the cheek at breakfast and on the lips after dinner, and falls asleep curled around Amy in front of the common room fire. PJ tells him he’s suffering from a traditional case of romantic frustration, which is apparently almost like sexual frustration, but just a tad bit worse. Phil wants to retaliate, but he’s yet to think of a good argument against that.

A week passes, and Phil does not talk to Dan Howell once. Miles Lestrange keeps his distance, and the Slytherins don’t pick on him during Care of Magical Creatures as much as they used to, but Dan doesn’t abduct him on his way to Trelawney’s with an invisibility cloak and lust-filled eyes, and neither does he smirk at Phil in the hallways or acknowledge his existence in any way at all.

Phil’s begun to mentally berate himself for thinking it would be any different.

+

Three weeks pass. Christmas is around the corner, and Amy has been very vocally counting down the days till she takes the train back home. Phil looks down at dinner when she excitedly informs him she’s three days away from seeing her parents again, and PJ informs him he’s at five. He’s wanted to go home during the holidays, except he’d made it to Professor Abbott’s list of Problematic Potions Pupils, and now he’s got to stay back for remedials all through the hols. He supposes it’s his fault for never taking the study notes Amy’d made for him seriously, but the blame also kind of falls on Dan Howell and his general douche-baggery.

When Elizabeth Farthing tells him pompously that she’s leaving for home  _tomorrow_ , Phil sighs miserably into his pork ribs, supposing he has a whole list of people to blame.

+

He goes with PJ to Hogsmeade the Sunday before PJ’s set to leave, and they buy an array of sweets and Christmas gifts and nip to the Shrieking Shack to down a packet of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Licorice. The Shack’s been quiet in almost forty years now, but its name has not yet worn off, and Phil suspects sometimes that Dan and his friends sneak in there to cause a ruckus and keep the rumours alive. He thinks against of Sirius Black and his werewolf friend, and is jolted out of his thoughts when PJ says, “So, are you going to tell me how gone you are for Dan Howell yet?”

Phil looks at him for a moment and tries his level best to keep from blushing. (He fails.) “What do you mean?” he asks, biting into a licorice and chewing at its cherry flavour.

“You know what I mean.” PJ grins at him, bright and curious, and chucks a strand of licorice across the fence and into the snow. “Mayonnaise,” he tells Phil by way of explanation, and then, “You can’t expect me to  _not_  have noticed.”

Phil shrugs, accepting defeat. “I suppose it was too much to hope you’d want to just pretend it wasn’t happening?”

“Too much,” agrees PJ. They stand there in silence for another minute or two, eating steadily through the sweets.

“I’m not in  _love_  with him,” Phil has to clarify, when the silence gets too thick.

“No, of course, wasn’t implying anything of that nature,” says PJ easily. Phil studies him; sometimes it’s a bit difficult to tell when PJ’s being truthful and when he’s just mucking about.

“It’s just - “ Phil begins, but he isn’t entirely sure how to continue. Somehow,  _I’ve been his fuck-buddy for months, and then he got hurt and I went to visit him, and I protected him from Lestrange and I blew him when Madam Pomfrey wasn’t around and somehow, in all of that, I may have developed feelings for him_ , just doesn’t seem to cut it.

“It’s a bit complicated,” says Phil eventually, wincing even at himself. “A bit of here and there. It’s really - I don’t really know. I don’t really think he does, either.”

PJ shrugs at him, takes the last licorice from the packet and bites the tip off like a savage, shouting jubilantly when he realises it’s just grape and nothing obscure, like vomit. “You don’t need to explain it to me,” PJ tells him, his eyes twinkling. “I just think it’s cute. And amusing.  _And_.” He leans forward to tap Phil on his nose, quick, like he’s always had the habit of doing. “I’m beginning to think I might have to start searching for a significant other of my own. I don’t entirely  _fancy_  being a fifth wheel, you see?”

Phil pulls a face at that. “I do see,” he tells him. “But, Peej, who in their right mind would want to date  _you_?”

PJ punches him at that, and then throws him arm around Phil’s shoulders and messes up his fringe. “I’m going to miss you over the hols,” he tells him fondly, and Phil can do nothing but agree.

Later that night in the near-empty Ravenclaw common room, Phil curls up next to the floor-to-ceiling window and watches the snow fall gently, wishing he could stick out his tongues to catch some on it like a child. He’s glad it’s going to be a white Christmas, even though it won’t be one he’ll celebrate with his parents and Martin, who’s taken a week off from his internship at Gringott’s for the hols. He’s always liked the snow, and the cold, and Hogwarts during Christmastime.

He supposes it won't be so bad.

+

It is bad.

It is  _very_  bad. Professor Abbott is being especially irritable, and Dan fucking Howell just so happens to be on the Problematic Potions Pupils list, too, and the weather hasn’t let up for a week.

They are fucking _snowed in._

There are only a handful of students at the Ravenclaw table at dinner, one week into the Christmas hols. There are even less at the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables, and Dan Howell sits alone at the Slytherin table, staring straight ahead, back to Phil.  _This is ridiculous_ , he thinks. He wants to take his food over to Dan, to sit beside him and not leave till the boy looks at him, fucking acknowledges him for the first time in a fucking month. He’s about to get to his feet and do exactly that, screw consequences, but right then Dan gets to his feet and leaves the Dining Hall, and Phil looks down at his full plate, slightly sheepish. He’s being purposely stupid and he needs to  _stop_.

+

One week before Christmas, the tree goes up. It takes up a sizable portion of the dining hall, and is the greenest thing Phil has seen since before the wall of snow settled around the castle. They’ve been effectively shut in, the weather deemed unsafe for even the owls to fly in and out, and Phil has no way to know if Amy and PJ have been writing to him like they’d promised to. But the tree is bright and the fairies that have been charmed to fly around it greet him as he walks by, and there are already a handful of presents at the bottom, and Phil  _has_  always loved this time of the year.

He breaks out his jumpers and wears his favourite one to the library that night. Madam Pince is snoring softly at her table, and the books seem to be asleep too. He wanders so deep into the rows of hardback volumes that he isn’t entirely sure he’ll find his way out before the sun rises, and somewhere deep in the library he finds a spot on the ground next to a large window where he sits down and makes himself at home. He pulls out a bit of parchment and a quill from his satchel, intent on finishing the essay Professor Abbott expects from him by the end of the week, and works quietly as a clock ticks somewhere far away.

Two hours pass, possibly three, and someone clears their throat.

Phil looks up, and his eyes are so glazed over that he has to blink thrice to make out the familiar silhouette of one Dan Howell standing a few feet away. Phil pushes himself up from where he had been lying on the carpeted floor in front of his parchment, and tries not to frown too much when he says, “What are you doing here?”

Dan clears his throat once again and says, “I was looking for, uh,  _The Effects of Bloodroot on Pregnant Witches as Observed By a Werewolf on the Third Blue Moon_. For Abbott’s essay. Pince told me it’s in one of these rows.”

“Oh.” Phil blinks. “I’ve got it here. I’m done, actually, so if you - “

“Yeah,” Dan says quickly. The awkwardness in the air between them is palpable. “Thanks.”

He approaches Phil carefully, his legs too gangly and clumsy, and when he bends down to pick up the volume in question from next to him, Phil catches a whiff of berries and shaving gel and that achingly familiar teenage angst, and he can’t help himself when he asks, “How have you been?”

Dan straightens up to look down at Phil where he’s sitting cross-legged on the carpeted floor. His face is blank but there’s something akin to panic in his eyes. “I’ve been good, and you?”

“Good, yeah.” Phil licks his lips. “You’re better, then?”

“I’m not half-paralysed anymore, if that’s what you’re asking,” Dan tells him, following his words with a small laugh. It sounds forced and grates against Phil’s ears, unwelcome.

“What finally did it, then?” says Phil because apparently he’s unable to let go of the conversation, still surprised that there is one at all.

“Pomfrey doesn’t actually know. I just woke up the next day, the day after - after you last come to, uh, see me, and my hands were okay, and my legs, too. So she gave me a once-over and said I could leave.”

 _Why didn’t you tell me?_  is on the tip of his tongue. Instead, he says, “Elizabeth and Amy are together.”

“I saw.” There is something akin to amusement in Dan’s eyes at that, and it makes him look… not  _normal_ , but a little bit closer to the boy in the infirmary who teased Phil and taunted him and wanted him there.

“Who would’ve thought, right?” says Phil, and makes himself grin.

Dan mirrors his grin tentatively and responds with, “Not me, that’s who.”

Phil looks down at his parchment, at the essay that’s three words away from completion, his heart beating erratically in his chest. There are so many things he wants to say, and simultaneously so many things he can’t. When he looks up again, Dan is gone.

+

The next time Phil sees Dan, it’s the day before Christmas and he’s in the same section of the library trying to acquire a book that is notoriously located out of his reach.

“Let me help you,” says Dan from behind him, and then he’s pressing up against Phil and retrieving the offending volume, and then stepping back and waiting for Phil to turn around.

He does. Dan looks delectable in a baby blue jumper and skin-tight jeans. His hair looks soft and void of product, actually curling into itself in a way Dan never lets it do, and he’s holding the book out for Phil with a teasing smirk on his face.

“Shut up,” says Phil, taking the book from his hands.

“Wasn’t going to say anything.”

“ _Right_.”

“On the other hand, you  _are_  rather short.”

“There it is.”

He goes to the window, leaving the book on the table in front of it. Dan follows him, and he isn’t sure what to make it of that.

“Are you about to study?”

Phil raises an eyebrow at him and says, with snark that he isn’t particularly feeling right now, “No shit.”

“But it’s Christmas  _eve_.” Dan’s eyes are wide and the rest of his face looks unimpressed at Phil’s despicable nerdish habits. “You  _can’t_  study tonight.”

 _What would you rather I do?_  Phil thinks before he can help himself. Fighting down a blush, he says out loud, “Then what are you doing here?” He thinks it’s a valid point, but hopes it isn’t one that will drive Dan away. He isn’t entirely sure why Dan’s chosen to speak to him again but he doesn’t particularly want it to stop.

“Thought I’d come check up on you,” responds Dan and, okay, now he’s  _definitely_  flirting.

 _Okay_ , Phil thinks.  _Flirting. I can do this._  “Yeah?” he asks, watching as Dan takes a step closer to him. He wants Dan to push him against the table and do unspeakable things to his body, but he supposes it’ll all happen in due time. All he’s got to do is rile him up enough. “And what do you think, now that you’re all checked up?”

Dan grins, and it’s bright and fleeting but scorches itself into Phil’s memory, leaving behind a bruise and something soft. Phil is consumed with the overwhelming desire to  _kiss_  the boy. “I think you could do with a distraction.”

Phil doesn’t think he imagines the way Dan rakes his eyes down his body, the way appreciation blooms red on his cheeks, something heavy settling in his eyes and in the way his fingers settle on Phil’s slim hips.

“What sort of distraction?” he asks, and he supposes that’s what does it, that’s what makes Dan snap.

“Come here,” Dan growls, fingers digging into Phil’s hip as he pulls him closer. Phil follows, weakened by the dark want in Dan’s eyes, his pupils blown wide and his expression unreadable. “You’re asking for it,” says Dan, his lips dangerously close to Phil’s.

Phil sucks in a breath and says, quietly, “I’m asking for what?”

“To be held down and fucked.” Dan says it quickly, like he’s delivering a hard blow, and a shiver runs down Phil’s spine at the likening. His knees buckle and he falls forward, his forehead resting heavily on Dan’s shoulder, and it takes all he has in him to not whine like he’s gagging for it.

But, oh God, he  _is_.

“Really?” he asks instead, because his mind is blank and he can barely think past the desperate string of  _yes yes yes yes fuck yes please Dan fuck_  that’s running through his head right now. Dan doesn’t respond, but his fingers slip under the edge of Phil’s shirt and run slowly across his abdomen, and then up his chest to pinch his nipples, and Phil’s blood runs hot in his veins. He shivers under Dan’s fingers, eyes shut, too hypnotized to do anything else but wait until Dan makes the next move.

“Yes,” Dan breathes out eventually. He pulls back to grab Dan’s chin and bring it close to his face, threatening to kiss him while not doing so just yet. “You’re asking to be fucked. Hard. You’re  _begging_  for it, look at that fucking - this fucking shirt, god, your  _skin_. You’re begging to be spread open, do you want me to play with you? Lick your pretty hole, make you come that way, yeah?”

Phil’s nodding, voice desperate as he says, “Yes, oh my  _god_ , yes  _please_ , Dan,  _please_.”

“I’ll push you onto the table,” Dan continues, his breaths coming out in harsh puffs against Phil’s mouth. “Fuck you  _raw_. Bring you so close -  _shit_  - so fucking close, but I won’t let you come yet, no, make you wait. Make you  _cry_  for it.”

“P-please,” Phil stutters, light-headed and positively dizzy with want, he grabs at Dan and pulls him even closer and looks into his eyes and mumbles, “Want to ride you, fuck, want to ride you so bad.”

“Yeah?” There’s a glint in Dan’s eye, a hint of satisfaction, like he was waiting for Phil to ask, like it was all he had to do. “Want to ride me, have me under you? Is that what you’ve been thinking of? Holding me down and bouncing off of my -  _fuck_  - off my cock?”

Phil’s nodding again, tears prickling his eyes, his cock straining painfully against the zipper of his jeans. He is beyond all control now, he thinks, as he makes a pitiful sound and bites down on his bottom lip. He can’t think past how badly he wants Dan in this moment, more than he’s ever wanted anything in his life, more than he’s ever wanted to  _live_.

“Stop that,” says Dan slowly, and then his lips are on Phil’s and they’re burning hot, they’re  _scorching_ , they’re taking the fight out of Phil, Dan’s tongue sucking it out of him, his teeth biting gently into Phil’s bottom lips, and then harder, till they’re sure to become plump and rosy like Dan likes them. “You’re a fucking tease,” Dan informs him, pushing him back to lean down and reattach his lips to Phil’s neck, biting into the skin above his collarbone that’s always been a tad over sensitive, and Phil cries out, holding onto Dan, his fingers shaking. “Yeah?” asks Dan appreciatively, using his teeth enough to leave a mark, and then two marks, and then three. Phil feels a thrill of pleasure shoot through him when he thinks of the hickeys, and of how he’ll have to cover them up tomorrow over Christmas dinner, and even if he  _does_  cover up they’ll still be there, in front of everyone, in front of the  _headmistress_.

“D’you like me leaving marks, Phil?” asks Dan, which is stupid because Dan  _knows_  Phil loves it, he always has. When Phil does nothing but look at him, breathing hard, Dan grins slowly and says, “Always knew you’d be a kinky one. Come on, then.”

And then Phil’s pushed against the rim of the table, and Dan’s got his hands on Phil’s shirt again, except this time he’s unbuttoning it, painstakingly slow, slipping it off of Phil’s shoulders at his own pace and then letting it fall to the ground. “Look at you,” Dan says, his eyes raking down Phil’s exposed torso. Phil shivers and has to keep from covering himself, reaching out to grab Dan’s t-shirt and making a sad sort of noise in his throat.

Dan laughs and says, “Okay, okay,” reaching down to pull his shirt over his head and then pressing up against Phil once again, making quick work of his jeans and pants, letting his painfully hard cock finally spring free of the confining material. “Christ,” huffs Dan, whistling low. “Got you all hard and aching for me, eh, Phil? When’s the last time you got off, then?”

Phil can hardly hear Dan over the ocean of white noise in his head. He reaches out to tangle his fingers in Dan’s hair, surprised again by how it’s softer than it looks, always has been, and then forces him to pay attention. Right. Dan’s just asked him a question. When  _was_  the last time he got off?

The look on his face might be slightly sheepish, because Dan gasps - actually  _gasps_  - and says, “When we were - when you went down on me? In the infirmary? Was that the last time you’ve gotten off, Phil?”

Phil nods his head, and then says, “Yeah,” for good measure.  _God_ , he thinks. He’s  _pathetic_.

Dan shakes his head at him, no doubt thinking the same, and then he’s reaching down to stroke one capable hand down Phil’s cock, circling his fingers around the tip and tugging gently. “Look at that,” he says again. “You haven’t come since you sucked me off. Been waiting for me, have you? Been keeping yourself loose and ready for me?”

He pushes himself up enough to sit on the table, legs spread for Dan to settle between, and his heart in his throat, no longer capable of keeping up his side of the conversation. He bites down a shiver as Dan’s fingers slide down his cock, creep past it to his balls, and then to his hole. Phil spreads his legs even wider, desperate to be good for Dan. He has to bite hard into his bottom lip when Dan whispers something and his fingers are suddenly slick with lube. And then they’re digging in gently, deeper and deeper with each tentative thrust, until his fingers find that bundle of nerves inside Phil and he shouts out, he  _moans_ , his hips pushing down onto Dan’s fingers to get them deeper, deeper. “Dan,” he gasps out, and is surprised by how rough his voice is, hoarse and deep and wanton. “ _There_ , Dan, jesus fuck,  _there_.”

Dan pulls out his fingers instead, wrapping them around his own cock, slicking it up with lube. Phil knows all he has to do is wait, but he whines anyway, squirming at the sudden emptiness. It’s soon replaced by Dan sliding his cock in, warm and hot and heavy, and Phil melts into him, clawing at his chest and making sorry little sounds that urge Dan to begin thrusting in slowly, thank fucking god. “Faster,” he urges, wrecked even though Dan’s just begun. “Faster, Dan,  _please_. I can take it, I can - “

Dan shushes him, actually fucking  _shushes_  him, raise his hands to grip at Phil’s arms, tight, and obligingly thrusts harder, his hips firm and capable. When his cock brushes against Phil’s prostate he can’t help but moan, loud and low, his eye shut and his mouth open. Dan leans in to slide their tongues together in a wet kiss, and through it Phil manages to get out, “Dan, let me -  _fuck_ , want to ride you, Dan, let me, god.”

He feels Dan nod against him, and then he’s being pulled off of the table and Dan takes his place, pulls Phil onto his lap and slides his cock in again, slick and easy. Phil sucks in a breath, revelling in the new sensations the position brings with it, and then Dan’s fingers are digging into his hip and pushing him up, letting him slowly slide down on Dan’s cock. Phil tips forward, giving himself leverage as he pushes himself off of it and sinks down again, over and over, his breaths coming out loud and heavy. “ _Fuck_ ,” Dan moans low into his ear. “I can’t -  _look_ , look at that, oh my god, you’re taking me so well, Phil. Fuck, so good for me,  _fuck_ ,” and when Phil comes, he doesn’t even register it for a long moment.

“Yeah,” Dan’s saying, “Yeah, yeah, yes,” and then he’s coming into Phil, and Phil shudders at the filth of it. He finds himself pressing back into Dan, keeping him close, refusing to let up even when Dan goes to slide out, and Dan laughs softly into the skin of his shoulder. “Come on,” he says softly there, running a finger down Phil’s arm. Phil slides off of Dan’s cock, begrudgingly, and falls back against the table beside him, utterly spent. He closes his eyes and stays that way for a moment, as Dan mutters a spell that cleans up the spunk on his stomach, and helps a blissfully limbless Phil get dressed.

“Y’alright?” asks Dan, somewhat cockily, when they’re both fully dressed once again.

Phil nods and, still somewhat in a post-coital haze of confusion and irrationality, reaches out for Dan limply, taking his hands in his and tangling their fingers together. He looks down at them, at how their palms slot together like puzzle pieces, and when he looks up at Dan he’s got an unreadable expression on his face. He tugs him closer, tentatively, and is almost surprised when Dan stands up to position himself between Phil’s legs again, leans into Phil and keeps their lips close. Phil looks up at him, at his features still soft and his eyes still dark. He reaches up to trace a finger along the familiar curve of Dan’s lip, and then leans up to press their lips softly together.

The kiss is tentative, and different, and Dan feels distant if not absent completely. Phil tries to get him to kiss him back, circles his hands around Dan’s neck and slips his fingers into his hair to tug at it, and all Dan does is move his chin away, dig his heels into the ground, stiffen up. “Dan,” says Phil softly, but Dan’s already shaking his head. “I - “ Phil begins, the feeling heavy in his chest, all of a sudden so present, present as the words on the tip of his tongue -  _I like you. Do you like me too?_

“Don’t,” Dan says, the word short and clipped and a little bit shaky. He pushes Phil away and steps back, runs a hand through his hair and looks anywhere but directly at him. “I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t go,” says Phil quietly. He’s looking right at Dan. He know what he sounds like, and he has an inkling about how obvious everything is right now, but he’s long since realised that the only way out of this is to be honest.

Dan looks at him now, his expression a little bit pained. “I can’t,” he says, another aborted sentence, one of so many.  _I can’t stay here, not right now. I can’t have you tell me you like me. I can’t have you tell me you want more, because I can’t like you, and I can’t want more._  Phil wonders which of those he means to say. Phil wonders if he means to say them all.

Phil shuts his eyes tight, only for a second, and then he opens them and looks straight at Dan, and takes Dan’s hands again in his, and says quickly before Dan can pull away again, “Go out with me.”

Dan stiffens. Every cell in him, every muscle and bone and tendon and ligament,  _everything_  stiffens.

“Shut up,” Phil says when Dan goes to open his mouth. “Let me talk. I like you, okay? And I want to take you out on a date. A very unfriendly date. As in, I want to take your hand and make you laugh over a meal, and kiss you after dessert, and then maybe suck you off if it goes well enough.”

Dan just stares at him.

“Please don’t leave,” adds Phil in a small voice.

Dan shakes his head very,  _very_  slowly, and Phil’s stomach swoops. Then he opens his mouth and says, “What about after that?”

“After that,” repeats Phil helplessly, grappling with the many thoughts in his head. “After that I want to take you for another date, and then we could go for a walk, and I could ask you to be my boyfriend. Which is something I want very much, almost as much as I want us to have chocolate truffles for Christmas dinner tomorrow.”

Dan huffs at that. He’s still standing very close, and his eyes are still very unreadable. “You want to date me,” he says at last.

“I want to date you,” Phil confirms. “I’ve wanted to date you ever since Miles Lestrange came to the infirmary to murder you - “

“He  _wasn’t_  going to - “

“Oh, fuck off, like he doesn’t have it in him.”

Dan just looks at him, amused.

“And I’d thought to myself,” Phil continues, pointedly ignoring him, “I’d thought, if Dan were to die now, I’d be really miffed. Which is an odd thought to think, you see, because most of the time I’m thinking of offing you myself.”

“That is rude.”

“Sod off.” Phil laughs. “And then you got out of the infirmary and  _didn’t tell me_  - “

“I was going to,” admits Dan, looking appropriately guilty. “But I didn’t know how to - how to approach you, because you’re always with those girls and  _Ligouri_.”

“Don’t you  _dare_  insult my friends.”

“But you must know how intimidating you are, with your nerd friends and your Ravenclaw wit.”

“I’ll give you that.” Phil still has Dan’s hand in his, and he lifts it to his lips now, presses a kiss into the soft skin of Dan’s palm. “Do you like me too?” he asks quietly.

For the longest moment Dan stays silent, and then he says in a perfunctory sort of tone, “Yes, I suppose.”

“You  _prick_ ,” Phil accuses, punching him in the chest. But it’s a soft punch, because his heart is beating too hard in his chest for him to hurt Dan too much.

“I do like you,” Dan reiterates. He’s looking at Phil like something fond has gotten stuck in his eye. “I like you a whole lot, so much so I don’t quite know what to do about it.”

Phil draws in a breath, opens his mouth to say something and then, thinking better of it, pulls Dan down for a kiss instead.

+

Elizabeth Farthing is talking. Elizabeth Farthing is  _always_  talking, but it is especially irritating  _now_ , when Phil is trying his level best to get an eyeful of Dan Howell over breakfast. The Slytherin table, he decides, is positioned unreasonably far away.

“Are you even  _listening_?” asks Elizabeth, barging into Phil’s thoughts as she is wont to do. Phil looks away from Dan at the Slytherin table to refocus his attention on Elizabeth, and frowns at her, mildly pissed.

“I haven’t seen you for a  _month_ ,” says Amy beside him, burrowing into his side and tickling him fondly. “I’ve  _missed_  you, but you haven’t looked at me  _once_.”

“I’m sorry,” Phil says automatically, and Elizabeth stares at him, affronted on the behalf of her girlfriend.

“It’s Dan, isn’t it?” she demands, loud enough to carry across the hall and make the boy in question stiffen in his seat.

Phil fights down a flush and says, “Dan who?”

“Don’t act dumb,” PJ admonishes jovially. “He knows what we’re talking about, he does.”

“You  _have_  seemed rather off since we got back from the hols,” comments Amy thoughtfully.

“Have I?” asks Phil, milking it.

Elizabeth Farthing narrows her eyes at him and says, “You’re shagging him, aren’t you?”

“I’ve  _always_  been shagging him,” replies Phil matter-of-factly. PJ sputters, face pleasantly red.

Amy shouts, “Aha!” like she’s in a film about pirates, and holds out an empty palm in front of Elizabeth’s face. “You owe me twenty pounds and five inches of parchment on the mating habits of Mandrakes.”

“You placed  _bets_?” asks Phil, incredulous.

“We sure did,” PJ supplies, and then to Elizabeth: “And  _you_  owe me a good word to Chris Kendall about my rock solid abdominals.”

Elizabeth is red, fuming. “I  _thought_ ,” she says to Phil, “I  _thought_  you hadn’t - I mean - not  _yet_.”

“So are you two together now?” Amy asks nicely, palm still stretched out in Elizabeth’s direction.

“I’m not talking to you,” Phil informs her. “You placed bets, too. You were my  _friend_.”

“You are together, aren’t you?” PJ says, and at Phil’s continued silence he laughs loudly. “I knew it! I called it the  _entire_  time. I probably saw it coming before you did, although  _you_  probably saw him coming before - “

“PJ!” cries Amy, aghast. “Not over  _breakfast_!”

Phil lets them speculate for the rest of the meal, not answering any of their questions concretely, and he knows it’s driving Elizabeth Farthing up the wall, but that’s all the more reason for him to keep his act up. Then after breakfast, on their way out of the dining hall and to their first class, Dan Howell sidles up behind him and slips his arms around Phil’s waist. “Hey there, boyfriend,” he says amiably into his ear.

Phil turns his head to look at him and says in reply, “Good morning, boyfriend.”

“What do you have first today?”

“Trelawny.” Phil pulls a face, and Dan imitates it.

“I’ll see for lunch? We can have it on the grounds, if you want.”

“It’s a plan,” says Phil, and smiles.

“I’ll see you later then, boyfriend.”

“You shall.” And then, just for the heck of it, Phil leans forward and kisses Dan gently on the lips. Somebody wolf whistles and Dan laughs against him, sounding bright and soft and happy, and all of those things at once.

And then Elizabeth fucking Farthing is next to him, tugging at his elbow and saying, “Oh, for Merlin’s sake, hurry or we’ll be late.” She drags Phil away with a vice-like grip, but she seems to be fighting down a smile, and Phil thinks not for the first time that Elizabeth Farthing really isn’t very bad at all.

_fin._

**Author's Note:**

> liked the fic? hated it? drop me a comment and let me know!!! 
> 
> in other news, [my tumblr](http://oopsiwritefanficdonttellmum.tumblr.com).


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